


Happy Birthday, Mr. Tozier

by Sovvie118



Series: Askpolylosersclub Oneshots [4]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Birthday Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Lapdance, M/M, Riding, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovvie118/pseuds/Sovvie118
Summary: It's Richie's Birthday and Eddie just wants to make him feel good.Paired with the askpolylosersclub blog on Tumblr.





	Happy Birthday, Mr. Tozier

Richie Tozier is turning 20. It’s October 27th, and Richie’s Birthday. He’s had a good day so far, waking up at around noon after Eddie allowed him to sleep for longer than usual. He woke to the faces of the other Losers, smiling around him and wishing him a Happy Birthday and giving him tight hugs and soft kisses. There was breakfast in bed –pancakes à la Mike Hanlon-, something else that Richie usually isn’t allowed due to Eddie’s phobia of anything crumb-related ending up hiding, unnoticed, until it starts to grow fur. Then there were presents, so many that Richie thought there must have been a mistake and all of them couldn’t have possibly been for him. They _were_ all for him.

He ended up with so much candy that he doesn’t really know how he’s possibly going to eat it all by himself, so much unusual jewellery that there’s no way he can fit it onto his body all at once, as he so likes to do, so many graphic tees and Hawaiian shirts that he’s going to have to create space in his and Eddie’s closet to fit them all inside, so many records that he doesn’t know which one to listen to first and, the cherry on top of the motherfucking cake, a black Fender Starcaster, complete with a case and a selection of picks. He didn’t dare ask how much it cost even with the six of them pooling their money together.  

The best gift he’s received so far, however, is Eddie’s company. He’s sure that it was Eddie’s idea for the rest of the Losers to all make themselves scarce soon after breakfast so that he and Richie could spend the day together. He was even surer about what that might entail when Eddie suggested that Richie take a shower while he set up a movie for them to watch.

At present, seated comfortably –and now cleanly, too- on one of the plush couches in their lounge, with Eddie pressed nice and close under his right arm, Richie is pretty content. Eddie’s cheek is warm where it meets the join of his neck and shoulder and his hair is its usual soft and luscious texture that Richie always craves to run his fingers through, tickling him enticingly just beneath his jaw. Eddie seems to be focused on the movie but even with the curtains drawn so the light is low, Richie can’t draw his attention from the freckles on the sliver of Eddie’s face that he can see from this angle.

Even after them being together for this long, Richie is still in awe at how _pretty_ Eddie Kaspbrak really is. He’s not sure how he didn’t ever see it before, when they were children; how Eddie’s eyelashes are so long and feminine that they create delicate little shadows on his cheeks, how they perfectly frame eyes that are such a deep, intense brown that the pupils and irises seem to become one, how the soft tan of his skin compliments the tiny splatter of stronger pigment across his nose and beneath his eyes that looks like some sort of constellation. Then again, maybe some part of him did see it and that’s why Eddie is one of the only things that Richie could ever focus on for longer than two minutes.

His arm is hanging loosely over Eddie’s shoulder, but he draws it in closer around his neck, watching fondly as Eddie brings up one of his own hands to meet it, small fingers intertwining with Richie’s much larger, ringed ones. It’s a subconscious move; Eddie’s eyes are still fixed on the television screen, the changing reflections of the movie flickering in dark, glistening orbs and Richie wants to laugh because he knows that it’s one of his favourites –Return of the Jedi- but he’d rather watch the vague shapes of it inside Eddie’s pupils than actually pay attention to the real thing.

Eddie thumbs at one of Richie’s rings, the chunky, silver one on his pointer finger; one of the permanent fixtures he wears on a daily basis. The colour is starting to change, now, after years of wear but the inside remains shiny, a testament to how often Richie twists it and pulls it on and off his finger in a half-baked attempt to subdue an overactive mind. He watches it go round and round as Eddie pushes it with the pad of his thumb, feels the cold metal drag smoothly over his skin in a repetitive action that’s almost soothing, before he rests his cheek onto the top of Eddie’s head. There’s a faint aroma of raspberry –Eddie must have recently taken a shower, too- as he nuzzles into the soft warmth of it, and Eddie moves in closer to the contact. Richie can’t say that he hasn’t noticed how Eddie seems to prefer the more fruity varieties in his choices of shampoo, nor can he say that he doesn’t love it.

“You smell _really_ good,” Richie mumbles into Eddie’s hair, feeling his own breath warm his face and steam up the lenses of his glasses. Eddie moves as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“So do you, actually.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Eds.”

“I’m not surprised…it’s just…nice…”

He feels Eddie shift beneath him and moves away just as he turns towards him. He’s lost, then, as Eddie’s eyes meet his own. He wants to say something funny but finds himself incapable of speech, so, using the arm around Eddie’s shoulder where their fingers are still locked together, he pulls him in closer to lean in for a kiss. Its intention is brief, really, just a light peck of appreciation before he’s sure that Eddie will turn back to the movie, but Eddie chases him as he starts to pull away, uses his grip on Richie’s hand to tug him in again for a deeper one.

It turns into exactly what Richie had hoped it would and soon they’re locked in a nice, slow make-out and the movie continues to run, unappreciated, in the background. Eddie’s mouth tastes like peppermint, as usual, when Richie gets his tongue inside and he’s sure that it’s because it’s his Birthday but Eddie is more eager than usual and it isn’t long before he flips a leg over to settle into Richie’s lap. Richie feels comfortable with Eddie’s weight on him, like it’s something that’s just meant to be there. He tries to get his hands onto Eddie’s hips to speed things along; he knows where this is going, but Eddie’s hands take his own and then they’re being lifted until his arms are pinned back against the couch on either side of him.

“It’s your Birthday,” Eddie says matter-of-factly, as if that’s an explanation for why he’s not letting Richie touch him. Richie can’t see why that makes any sense; surely, if it’s his Birthday, then he should be allowed to put his hands anywhere he wants.

“Yeah, and I wanna open my gift,” Richie chuckles, eyeing the waistband of the sweatpants that Eddie is wearing, in a very obvious way.

Eddie seems briefly amused by this, but the look on his face quickly turns to something more focused. His grip on Richie’s hands loosens, tan fingers sliding out from in between longer, pale ones as he reaches to touch the sides of Richie’s face. He leans in, then, as if he’s going to kiss him and Richie parts his lips in anticipation but Eddie stops just short, pauses for a while as if he’s mulling something over in his mind.

“I…I wanna make you feel good,” he breathes, voice barely a whisper. There’s a slight shake to it that on someone else, Richie would have pegged for desperation and lust but coming from Eddie he knows is anxiety-related, like he had to physically force the words out of his mouth.

Richie gives back a smooth _‘Yeah?’_ along with a soft grin, trying to hold contact between Eddie’s eyes and his own while Eddie looks so nervous. It’s one of Richie’s favourite things, this part of it; the part where he has to fight to keep Eddie’s gaze –and hands- on him, not just because he likes a challenge but because he likes the _reward_ it brings. There’s always a certain point at which Eddie’s restraint snaps and his anxiety melts into non-existence; the point where Richie can start savouring every taste he gets of Eddie’s lips or skin, every sensation of Eddie’s hands and mouth and body on him and start committing them all to memory until the next time.

Eddie seems to be close to reaching that point, now. At least it seems like it, in the way his fingers are curling into Richie’s hair close to the arms of his glasses –they always do before he takes them off his face so he can kiss him better-, in the way Eddie’s weight seems to be gradually increasing on top of him as if he’s slowly allowing himself to settle into it, in the way his eyes have somehow grown even darker.

He only gives a small nod in reply, but he _does_ take Richie’s glasses off, as expected, to place them aside and leans in to give him the kind of kiss that makes Richie’s brain do that television static thing that it sometimes does, all passion and raw sexual energy and strong hands gripping at thin shoulders. He gets an arm around Eddie’s waist, hooks it there to pull him hard against his body where he wants him. It’s getting heated, now, and almost a little bit frantic as lips part and tongues meet and Richie is so glad that he decided to brush his teeth while he was taking a shower because otherwise he might have fucked up his chances at this part.

Eddie sits back, then, in Richie’s lap and reaches down to the hem of the old AD/DC t-shirt that he’s wearing; it used to be Richie’s but Eddie acquired it for himself a couple of years back and since then he wears it almost every night to bed. The white letters are faded, now, and it’s much too big for him but there’s something insanely sexy about it all the same and Richie feels a rush of arousal through his body just at the mere thought of watching Eddie take it off in front of him. He’s trying hard not to think about the fact that they’re still in the lounge, as if his thoughts might alert Eddie to the fact and make him change his mind about their location.

_Are they gonna have sex right here on the couch?_

As if that single thought betrayed his chances, right at the second Eddie starts to lift the t-shirt off and Richie gets a tiny glimpse of that smooth, tanned skin that makes his mouth water, his phone starts to ring. Richie knows that it’s his own because of the god-awful –but fucking hilarious- rendition of ‘Allstar’ by Smashmouth played on a kazoo. Eddie’s hands drop back to his thighs in defeat and he stares hard at the phone for a few seconds before looking back at Richie.

“Aren’t you gonna answer it?”

That’s what his words say, but the tone says _‘Answer your fucking phone before I throw you out of the window with it.’_

“It can wait,” Richie says almost instantly, as he reaches out for Eddie’s shirt to try and help him along but Eddie ignores the advance and leans over to look at the caller ID.

“It’s your mom,” he says, firmly, like that’s the end of it. Clearly moms are a serious topic in Eddie’s eyes because he lifts himself out of Richie’s lap and drops onto the couch beside him instead. Richie knows that he’s done. Any move he makes on Eddie now is sure to be rejected until this phone call is over with, so he picks it up just as the kazoo player is reaching the first notes of the chorus and presses the green ‘Answer’ button.

“Hey, mom,” he offers as he lifts the phone to his ear, trying not to sound as irritated by this phone call as he feels. She must have replied with a ‘Happy Birthday’ or something of the sort because he mutters a brief ‘thanks’ as he stands from the couch. They continue talking for a while, with Richie giving the occasional grunt or one-word answer to whatever she is saying, as he walks about the room in a sort of anxious march. He plays with the light switch on the wall, flicking it on and off and on and off again; thankfully, he stops and paces out of the room before Eddie has to tell him to knock it off. Richie’s voice becomes faint as he wanders about the downstairs of the house, so Eddie decides to settle into the movie again.

It’s not long after Luke Skywalker has rescued Princess Leia and Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt that Eddie hears something that sounds like shouting. It takes him a few moments to process that it’s Richie’s voice, after which he reaches quickly for the remote to pause the movie. Sure enough, he hears it again, the deep, raspy tones of Richie’s voice coming through the walls as he shouts something. It’s getting louder and louder but Eddie still can’t make out what he could possibly be shouting about on the phone to his mom. He stands from the couch to move to the doorway, feeling that it’s probably not best to just follow him right away and eavesdrop, but he feels a definite pang of concern when a crack in Richie’s voice the next time he speaks suggests that he might be crying.

He stands in the lounge doorway for as long as he can bear, but Richie is really shouting, now and it sounds almost strangled, like he’s fighting off the urge to sob and Eddie can’t stay away. His feet start moving of their own accord, like it’s buried within his very instincts to find Richie when he’s upset so he can make it better. He stops outside the game room, the door to which is closed and clearly hiding Richie’s phone meltdown behind it. He can hear the faint sounds of a woman’s voice coming through the speaker on the other end; she’s shouting, too, apparently.

“Why is everything else always more important to you than I am?!” he hears Richie croak. There’s the sound of Richie clearing his throat and Eddie’s mind instantly conjures one of Richie’s regular jokes: ‘Winston’s acting up again,’ he always says, a reference to the brand of cigarettes he always used to smoke. Only this time it isn’t funny. This time it makes Eddie feel a little bit sick.

Maggie Tozier’s voice comes through the door again; clearly Richie is standing close behind it, but Eddie still can’t quite make out the entirety of what she’s saying. He picks out a few words, ‘ungrateful’ and ‘insensitive’ are two that stand out to Eddie and make his blood start to boil. He wants to burst through the door and snatch the phone right out of Richie’s hand so he can give the bitch a piece of his mind but, after he hears Richie blurt out a very thick ‘Fuck you’, followed by the crack of something –probably Richie’s phone- hitting a hard surface, his rage cools back into worry.

There are other sounds, the soft thud of Richie’s back hitting the other side of the door, a muffled scrape which travels south as he slides to the ground, a hitch of breath and then another, followed by a breathy sob. He crouches to where he thinks Richie probably is, lightly pressing his hands to the wood but he can’t bring himself to speak when he opens his mouth to do so. Perhaps it would be better to just leave him alone.

No.

That won’t work either.

Eddie’s body won’t let him move away from the door. So he settles down instead, sitting with his back against it just like Richie must be at the opposite side, and he listens to him cry. It’s not loud or obvious; anyone close enough to Richie knows how much he hates crying, particularly when anyone might see or hear him, how he bottles it up until something finally pushes him over the edge. The sound of it hurts Eddie in a way that he can’t explain, makes his bones feel cold and his heart ache in his chest. Thankfully, it dies down soon enough and he scrambles to his feet as he hears Richie rising inside the room.

The door opens before Eddie can fully prepare himself for it, and Richie exits and almost collides straight into him. His eyes are rimmed red and he looks considerably paler even for someone so naturally fair-skinned. There’s a definite solemnness about him now.

“…What was that about? Are you okay?” Eddie asks, as softly as he can. His heart aches even more at the sight of Richie in this condition, but it doesn’t have to ache for long, as Richie basically shuffles right into him, clearly in want of a hug. Eddie happily obliges.

“She was supposed to be coming to see me and now she’s not,” he mumbles into Eddie’s shoulder, his voice still a little thick, like his tongue is heavy. He clearly doesn’t want to say any more about it than that, because he takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh that makes Eddie’s shoulder feel warm. Richie’s hair is tickling his face but he keeps a tight grip around him and holds him close nonetheless.

“You don’t need her. You have me,” he says, hoping that it didn’t sound as corny as he thought it did but Richie’s following chuckle confirms his fears.

“True,” he mutters, against Eddie’s neck, this time, placing a brief little kiss there before pulling away and taking his hand, “Let’s just go finish our movie. I don’t wanna think about my mom.”

They settle back into the couch, this time with Richie’s head in Eddie’s lap where he seems quite comfortable and content but Eddie can’t focus on the movie at all. He’s too engrossed in the intricacy of Richie’s curls, how each one is an entirely different shape than the rest, how much of a tangled mess it seems they should be and yet, how they seem to perfectly frame his face. He reaches down to twirl one of them around his index finger while Richie is still entirely absorbed in the movie, marvelling at how incredibly soft it feels. Richie’s hair has always been a mystery to him; run your fingers through it or pet it gently and it feels almost wiry, but touch a single strand and it’s perfectly smooth.

He wants to take Richie’s glasses off again. Richie put them back on so he could see the TV but Eddie prefers them off; he can see Richie’s eyes properly like that. The light of the television screen is reflecting off the thick lenses and almost entirely obscuring them from Eddie’s view at present. He lets his gaze wander to Richie’s lips, instead, entirely too full and nicely-shaped for someone so thin and wiry. His own mouth goes a little dry when he briefly allows his mind to drift back to moments when those beautiful lips have been on him, only moments ago when they were against his and…other times…when they’ve been far south of there and doing things to him that would make his mother cry.

_Ugh._

_Why is he thinking about his mom?_

He shakes the thoughts from his mind as he looks back up at the movie. The three heroes are on that planet now where those little, furry, teddy-bear-like creatures live. Ewoks, he thinks they’re called. Richie would know; he can spout off Star Wars trivia like he’s a Catholic reciting Bible verses.

Richie shifts in his lap, then; he’s getting comfy, clearly, as he reaches for one of the sofa cushions to pull it underneath his head against Eddie’s thighs. He shoots Eddie a grin when he sees him looking down, reaches up to flick at Eddie’s nose with one of his fingers.

“Hey, Cutie,” he chuckles when Eddie wrinkles his nose and grabs for Richie’s hand to stop him from doing it again.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie monotones, but they both can’t help but smile fondly at the overused catchphrase and Richie catches him off guard to pinch at one of his cheeks, instead.

“But it’s true. You’re just adorable, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that, either. You know I hate that.”

Eddie swats Richie’s hand aside, hoping that he’ll just go back to the movie but it’s too late, his ever-changing attention span has set its sights on Eddie, now. Richie stares up at him for a few moments, catches his eyes even through the lenses of his glasses and there’s an almost comfortable silence between them. That is, until Richie suddenly puts his head underneath Eddie’s t-shirt with a brief remark of ‘I bet we can both fit in here’ and completely ruins the moment.

He manages to get Richie out of his shirt after a short fight, where Eddie tries hard not to laugh too hard with Richie’s dark curls tickling his bare stomach and Richie, unhelpfully, kissing him all over. Even when Eddie has calmed down, Richie clearly hasn’t and he leans up towards Eddie’s face, watching his eyes from so closely that his glasses are bumping Eddie’s nose.

“Wanna make out?” he asks quietly as Eddie removes his glasses once again to place them on the arm of the couch.

Before Eddie can even reply, as if removing his glasses was some kind of signal, Richie is climbing into _his_ lap this time and he’s caught Eddie’s lips already. Thankfully, he isn’t putting his entire weight onto Eddie and even if he was, he’s far too thin to be considered particularly heavy. He feels Richie’s hands either side of his face, large enough that the tips of his fingers reach into his hair at the nape of his neck. Richie is not a subtle person in general, but when it comes to kissing he’s definitely a ‘go hard or go home’ sort and Eddie is out of breath before they’ve really started. But he doesn’t want to stop, not with Richie’s tongue giving those soft little licks to the roof of his mouth that leave him feeling all tingly right down to his toes.

It’s this part that usually works him up; the way Richie teases every tiny sensation out of his mouth that he possibly can, relentlessly, until he forgets about all of the germs in people’s saliva and, particularly in Richie’s case, whether or not they’ve recently brushed their teeth. Luckily, in this instance, it seems like he has. There’s the faint taste of the same toothpaste that they both use in their shared bathroom with Ben and Bev. Plus, Eddie just has a sixth sense for these things. He can tell.

He almost forgets what else he had prepared for Richie’s Birthday as he gets lost in the kiss. Richie is practically leaning over him, now and Eddie’s head is resting against the back of the couch as the assault on his mouth continues. His head is starting to feel fuzzy, particularly when Richie pulls away and starts a trail of wet kisses across to his jaw and then his neck, where he is most definitely creating a hickey. He can’t help the way his toes curl, or the sharp breath that escapes him that makes Richie lean in just that bit closer to his body. Speaking of which, Richie is half-hard in his sweats already; he can feel it against him and for some reason his instinct is to reach for the waistband of Richie’s pants and pull him closer. He knows he’s completely losing his self-control when he briefly thinks of how hot it would be for Richie to just grind against him like this until he came, right against Eddie’s stomach.

It’s that thought that shocks him back to reality and he remembers what he really had planned for today, so he carefully detaches Richie from his neck to push him aside onto the couch. It’s not difficult; even with their foot height difference Eddie is still stronger. Although, Richie does look a little put out by it.

“What happened? Are we…did you…?” Richie motions briefly to Eddie’s crotch with a dumbfounded look in his eyes, “I mean, I would expect that from Bill, but normally you can last a lot longer-”

“That’s not it, Dipshit,” Eddie cuts in, standing from the couch while Richie continues to watch him with a confused expression, “It’s your Birthday, so…”

Richie shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch, picking up his glasses to slide them back onto his face. Clearly, he can’t see Eddie properly even from this distance. He waits for Eddie to continue to speak.

“I just…I…” Eddie shifts a little awkwardly from one foot to the other. He reaches for the remote, suddenly, to turn off the TV. Clearly the lightsabre sounds weren’t setting the right kind of mood, “I wanted this to be…all about you.”

He picks up his own phone from where it was resting on the TV stand, flicking through something for a while before putting it back down. Richie’s unsure of where he’s going with this until, as ‘Earned It’ by The Weeknd starts playing through Eddie’s phone, it suddenly dawns on him.

“Is this my sex playlist?!”

“Don’t ruin it,” Eddie sighs, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Richie sits back again from where he jumped to the edge of the couch when he got excited, still looking thoroughly pleased about it all the same. He isn’t prepared for what happens, next, though, as Eddie starts to sway his hips a little in time to the music. The smile is instantly knocked right off Richie’s face.

“Are you…giving me a lap dance? Is _this_ another Birthday present?!”

Eddie looks a little bit amused but he doesn’t say anything, just continues to swing his hips in slow, teasing little circles and Richie had no idea that anybody could move like that. The motions are so fluid. There’s something almost sinful about it. Richie didn’t think that Eddie could ever get any sexier, in his eyes, but it seems like he just managed it.

“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, as Eddie continues to dance, lifts the hem of his t-shirt off his abdomen and then takes it off altogether to drop it to one side. He comes a little closer, then, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants to inch them a bit lower, revealing his hipbones as he continues to roll his body in time to the music. Richie feels like he must either be dreaming, or he’s dead and this is what Heaven looks like. Eddie moves even closer, so that his legs are either side of one of Richie’s knees and he’s close enough to touch and those tight, toned little hips are almost gyrating right on top of him and Jesus H. Christ he’s dead. He’s fucking dead. This is what it’s like to die.

He’s lost for words, now. He wants to say something hilarious but Eddie is almost grinding right on top of him and he can’t look at anything but the faint lines of muscle beneath the smooth, tanned skin of Eddie’s stomach and the way that they move whenever he circles his hips or rocks back and forth. There’s a trail of dark freckles that starts just beneath one of his arms and curves around onto his stomach, skimming his navel and disappearing beneath his clothes; Richie knows it well, he follows them often enough with his tongue but this time he can only do it with his eyes and it’s like the sweetest torture. He’s never really focused on the muscles in Eddie’s stomach before, since usually when Eddie is on top of him like this his thoughts are occupied elsewhere, big time, but right now all he can think about is that this is what it would look like if Eddie was riding him. Clearly, Eddie taking up boxing is working some kind of magic on his body; there’s a prominent ‘V’ between his hips, now, that Richie doesn’t know how he didn’t see before, but that makes his chest –and his pants- go tight.

And gods, he’s desperate for Eddie to be riding him right now. He wonders if Eddie would agree to it, since it’s his Birthday. Usually, he wouldn’t be afraid to ask for something like that, but oh fuck those gorgeous hips are so close to his own that he can almost feel it and his mind is fucking _blank_. Eddie is leaning in, now; one of his hands presses against Richie’s thigh and those hips are finally on him as he perches on one of Richie’s knees. If Richie’s mind was blank before, it’s non-existent after he takes a glance at Eddie’s arm, reaching past him to the back of the couch.

_How the fuck didn’t he notice Eddie’s biceps before?_

The honey-coloured skin is so close to his face that he wants to bite into it, into the hard muscle beneath and leave a mark right there, teeth indentations and all. But Eddie’s hand is in his hair before he can, tugging his head back against the couch roughly enough that Richie almost moans at the sensation. He’s so fucking hard up right now that he’d let Eddie do whatever he wanted to him. Eddie leans in close and ghosts his breath over Richie’s skin beneath his ear.

“You didn’t have to get me anything else. This is enough,” Richie breathes. He’s about to comment further on it when he feels Eddie’s lips suddenly attach to his neck and holy shit if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. Eddie’s never one for leaving hickeys –he _gets_ them plenty, and not just from Richie- or taking control very much at all during their sexual encounters but right now he’s sucking on Richie’s throat like some kind of shirtless, sexy little vampire.

So Richie decides to lean back and enjoy it, particularly when he feels Eddie’s teeth graze him a little and he can’t help the throaty groan that escapes him. He’s dying to get some sort of contact between the rest of their bodies but Eddie is still just covering one half of him, although his right thigh is getting awfully close between Richie’s legs. When it finally hits home base, Richie thinks it’s an accident at first, but Eddie tucks it right in there nice and snug, rolls his hips forward so it rubs against him. He’s already almost fully hard, eager as usual, and the contact sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

 _“Fuck, Eddie-”_ he breathes, unable to stop his hips from lifting off the couch to grind against Eddie’s thigh, but Eddie only presses it harder against him like he’s encouraging it. He can feel that there’s more than one hickey on his neck, now; Eddie is working his way down to his collar bone. He dares to reach around Eddie’s body with the arm closest to him to get a grip on his ass and pull him in closer and Eddie allows it without a single word, clearly too focused on leaving more bruises on Richie, now right at the collar of his t-shirt.

He’s about to pull Eddie into his lap properly so they can grind together, _fuck him through his clothes_ , as he likes to think of it but Eddie pulls away from him to lift Richie’s shirt. He doesn’t pull it off, just holds it under Richie’s arms while he leans in to kiss at his chest, but clearly it’s too much effort to bend like that and before Richie can process it, Eddie is on his knees between Richie’s thighs and he’s leaving marks on his stomach to match the ones higher up.

Richie’s mind is going at about a million miles an hour, now. He’s gone down on Eddie more times than he can count but Eddie has never even come close to doing it to him. Not properly, at least. So far, they’ve had two failed attempts. The first, Eddie freaked out before Richie’s dick was even out of his pants and the second…well…they don’t speak about that. Eddie has a sensitive gag reflex.

“Eds-” Richie begins, but Eddie looks up into his eyes and gives a little shake of his head before returning to the damp bruise he was leaving on Richie’s hip.

If Richie was hard before, then right at this moment his dick might as well be bursting right through the material of his pants. Eddie licks a stripe right along the waistband, across the small trail of dark hair which leads up to Richie’s navel and Richie’s sure that Eddie must be a little grossed out by it, since he’s so afraid of anything that could be harbouring germs but since he knows Richie took a shower only about an hour prior to this, he doesn’t seem to mind it. He gets his fingers into the waistband of Richie’s sweats and tugs them a little lower, revealing a patch of hair that’s slightly denser. Richie knows that Eddie has seen him naked plenty of times before, but this time it’s like he’s slowly taking it all in, piece by piece, and he _almost_ feels a little self-conscious. He is, after all, much thinner, paler and less muscular than Eddie. But Eddie eyes him up and down like he’s been stranded in the desert for three days and Richie is a tall glass of water. He leans in again to one of Richie’s hips, where the bone is rather prominent and bites down on it, not enough to hurt him but enough to leave teeth marks behind and Richie can’t stop from lifting his body toward it.

_“Oh, fuck-”_

The outline of his hard-on is so fucking obvious now, even through his boxers and his sweats that he’s surprised Eddie hasn’t been scared away by it yet. It seems like the opposite, since when Eddie lifts his mouth away from Richie’s bare skin to look at it, he almost instantly lifts his hand to put it right there, tucked slightly between Richie’s body and the couch as he palms at him. He looks up, then, to see Richie adjusting his specs on the bridge of his nose, like he always does when he’s anxious or doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Good?” Eddie offers, observing Richie’s rather thin-lipped nod as he clearly tries to keep himself under control. It irks him somewhat. He doesn’t want Richie to hold back. He just wants him to feel good on his Birthday. Eddie knows what will really get him going, he’s just a little bit afraid of what it entails, especially since the last attempt went so very, very badly.

However, Eddie is not one to back down from a fight and he’ll be damned if something as simple as sucking a dick is going to get the better of him. He yanks Richie’s sweats down a little further, revealing the very prominent –and vaguely intimidating- shape of his boner through the thin material of his white boxers.

_White boxers?_

Eddie didn’t even know that Richie owned white boxers; he organises Richie’s clothes himself and he knows for a fact that all of Richie’s boxers are either covered in stupid patterns, or just plain black. Then he notices the Calvin Klein band around the waist and realises that they’re not actually Richie’s at all.

“…Why are you wearing Stan’s underwear?”

“Because…they’re so much more comfortable than mine. This shit is, like, one hundred percent cotton.”

“Yeah, and you’re, like, one hundred percent dead if he finds out you’ve been wearing his underwear.”

Richie lets out a chuckle that’s mostly an exhale but Eddie isn’t even sure that he was listening to his smart comeback. There’s a cloudy look in Richie’s eyes that isn’t just due to the fact that the lenses of his glasses have a constant film of fingerprints and god knows what else over the top. He pulls Richie’s sweats the rest of the way off and casts them aside, hoping that Richie being more exposed will make _him_ feel a little better about his own position. But Richie’s hard-on is straining through the vaguely see-through material right in front of his face and he doesn’t feel any better about it at all.

“Can you…not look at me while I do this?” Eddie mumbles, trying to avoid casting his gaze in Richie’s direction while he can feel eyes on his face. He half expects Richie to laugh, to berate him for such a suggestion, but he sees Richie move in his peripheral vision, hears the soft clack as he folds his glasses to place them to one side.

“That better?”

The soft tone of Richie’s voice draws Eddie’s attention to him again. There’s a far-off look in Richie’s eyes which suggests, as Eddie suspected, that he’s straining to see him properly even from this short distance and he’s hit with a sudden wave of feeling through his chest that’s almost painful. He stands, uses the edge of the couch to prop himself up as he leans in to catch Richie’s lips in another kiss, more passionate and meaningful than the last. It eases the ache a little.

He drops back to his knees soon after, suddenly feeling a lot less anxious and a lot more eager to please. He’s going to give Richie the best damn Birthday he ever had. Tentatively, he pulls at the Calvin Klein waistband with two of his fingers, gradually revealing more and more of Richie’s skin until the head of his erection is visible. Just like this, it doesn’t seem so bad. He’s touched it plenty of times before with his hands and that’s never been particularly uncomfortable.

 _‘This is just the same’_ , he thinks, steeling his nerves as he leans in close. He knows that Richie must be able to feel his breath because his thighs tense up either side of him. He still hasn’t said a word and Eddie can’t decide whether that’s making him feel better or worse.

Oddly, from this proximity, the scent of Richie’s skin is making him feel a little heady. There’s a sheen on the tip, sweat or pre-come or something, the sight of which is making Eddie’s mouth feel dry, like he needs to take a long drink of water. He considers using his finger, first, as a test but it’s a stupid idea; he’s touched Richie’s dick more times than he can count and he knows what it feels like. Eventually, he stops stalling and sticks out his tongue to place a soft lick against the flesh in front of him. It’s not much, but it makes Richie produce a sound that’s so brief but so erotic that Eddie feels a little bit light-headed.

He can’t look up, not yet, so he settles for repeating this action, kitten-licking all over the head until it’s slick with his saliva and then continuing even after. It seems to be getting redder, darker in colour under his tongue which he knows means more sensitive, so he keeps going. After all, he doesn’t have to worry about gagging on anything, like this. Richie still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t made much of a sound at all, really, since the first lick, so he chances a look up at him.

Richie’s eyes are closed, his head lolling to one side like he’s struggling to sit up straight. His chest is rising and falling quite rapidly with the effort of whatever it is he’s holding back. His voice, his hands, his hips? Eddie’s not sure. He can’t seem to draw his attention away from the swollen look of Richie’s bottom lip, like he’s been chewing at it. He wants to be back up there so he can kiss him, bite at that lip until it’s sore and perhaps coax some sort of sound out of him while he’s at it. He sticks out his tongue again, draws it slowly across the heated flesh beneath, watches Richie’s closed eyes squeeze together even tighter as those tempting lips part teasingly in a silent moan.

He’s not usually one to hold back and it’s driving Eddie _crazy_.

“ _It’s okay_ ,” he breathes, keeping his voice low. Richie’s eyes remain closed but his thighs press into him on either side. It feels strangely nice. _Safe_. He lathes his tongue across him again, feeling the shudder it earns him, this time. Richie looks close to breaking.

“Rich, it’s okay,” he continues. His fingers are still hooked into the waistband of his underwear and he tugs at it to reveal the entirety of his erection, giving it a nice, long lick this time, right up the shaft. Richie’s fingers twitch against the couch where his hands are resting on either side of him.

 _‘Fine’_ , Eddie thinks, _‘If he’s not gonna react, then I might as well just get this over with._ ’

As slowly and carefully as he can, he slides his fingers around the base so he can lift it to his lips, pressing it just between the parting until it slips onto his tongue. Right now, he feels quite calm about it. There’s no urge to gag at all; it’s just resting in the soft warmth of his mouth. He can feel Richie’s thighs pressing quite firmly into his shoulders.

It doesn’t seem too difficult, at the present time, for him to start shifting his head back and forth so that it’s just smoothly rubbing against his tongue in small movements that almost feel kind of…nice. He doesn’t have to put much effort into it at all and judging by the sudden heaviness of Richie’s breath and the way he’s shifting around on the couch, it feels good. He wants to take it deep into his mouth, press his tongue in tight and really make Richie squirm but he’s worried that his own body will majorly betray him and activate his stupid gag reflex just like the last time. Although, he thinks that he might be able to take a little bit more without any serious repercussions, so he dips his head lower until it glides further onto his tongue. He hears Richie let out a heavy breath.

It still isn’t all that bad, and he starts to bob his head just slowly, trying to focus on tightening his tongue around it on each outward drag; Richie has done this to him on many occasions and he knows how good it feels. After a while, his jaw starts to ache and he has to pull off to breathe. He’s annoyed at himself until his eyes meet Richie’s, dark and lust-filled and looking right down at him with such an intensity that he feels it deep inside his body. The thought that Richie might have been watching him all this time makes him feel hot all over.

“You don’t have to keep…going if you don’t want to…”

Richie’s voice comes out strained and breathless and that alone makes Eddie want to continue. Before Richie can say anything more he dips in again to suck it back into his mouth, deeper than he did before. He almost gags, manages to hold it back but Richie clearly sees the strain in his features. A hand touches the side of his face, fingers gently stroking at his jaw.

“Y-you’re doing so good…just…just relax…”

Something about the tone, deep, gravelly and sexual but laced with desperation hits Eddie’s core. He’s overheating with Richie’s legs pressed in so close either side of him, with Richie’s own body heat radiating up into him but it’s strangely intoxicating. He feels himself loosen up under Richie’s touch as rough fingertips reach under his ear and into his hairline; his jaw suddenly doesn’t feel so strained and he feels Richie slip into his mouth a little bit further.

_“Oh god it feels so good.”_

Richie’s voice, this time, comes out as so much of a whisper that he thinks he was saying it to himself more than to Eddie. It hits him again, a kind of heat that he can’t really explain and he has to reach down and press into the front of his own sweats to give himself some relief and _holy shit he’s actually hard. Like…really hard. Just from having Richie’s dick in his mouth._

“Just go slow…” Richie says quietly; Eddie’s not sure whose benefit him going slow might be for, since Richie’s hips are straining with the effort of keeping still and Eddie can feel it. Perhaps he’s better at this than he thought.

Filled with a sudden rush of confidence, he bows his head again, lowering himself enough for the head of Richie’s dick to almost touch the back of his tongue. This time, the instant that he feels the urge to gag, Richie’s fingers –both hands- weave into his hair and drag at his scalp and he lets out a low moan that vibrates in Eddie’s ears. He can sense, by the way Richie’s abdomen is now touching his forehead, that he’s arching his back out of his seat. It’s all so fucking hot that Eddie forgets that he wanted to retch at all; if anything, his whole body relaxes into it so much that it even slips in a little deeper and he hears Richie’s responding hitch in breath.

_“Eddie-”_

Gods, he’s never heard Richie say his name like _that_ before. He gets greedy, bobbing his head again; he pulls off right to the tip, working at it with his tongue where he knows from using his hands in the past that Richie is most sensitive, until Richie is practically writhing in his seat and whispering curses into the air in the room. His hands are still in Eddie’s hair.

 _“Fuck, Eddie…I didn’t know you could use your mouth like that…”_ he breathes, losing either his train of thought or his breath for a while before muttering something else, the only part of which Eddie can catch is _‘so good’_.

He knew that Richie was talkative during sex but usually, it’s intentional; filthy explanations of what he’s going to do to Eddie or what he’s currently doing to Eddie, in order to pull a reaction from him. This time it’s Eddie who is doing all of the manipulating and he feels strangely powerful, strangely overwhelmed and strangely protective, all at the same time.

Bobbing his head faster, he lifts his hand from where he’s been subconsciously palming himself through his sweats to grip at Richie’s thigh. His other hand is still at the base of Richie’s cock, providing almost a barrier that’s stopping him from taking it too deep in his overenthusiasm. He’s starting to understand the whole idea of this being pleasurable for him, too. The ache in his jaw has faded into the background, now; Richie’s hard, heated flesh feels good against his tongue. There’s no taste, like he thought there might be. It was a little salty, at first; the faint taste of someone’s skin but now all he can taste is his own saliva. But the crowning glory, by far, is the heavy sound of Richie’s breath, the quiver in his voice, the feeling of his thighs on either side, one of which has found its way over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie’s gag reflex seems to have become non-existent, replaced only with the sudden –and rather scary- urge to sink deeper around him, to feel it touch the back of his throat, to take all of it until Richie is so lost in the pleasure that he can’t even speak. He knows that he can’t; even so fuelled by lust that he thinks he might actually come right in his own underwear pretty soon, he knows that if it touches the back of his throat, this is over.

It doesn’t seem to matter about the reality of it, either way. Richie is so far gone that he’s not even speaking anymore. He’s sunk far down in his seat, now, one hand gripping at the couch behind his head and the other still tangled in Eddie’s thick hair. He moans, loud, the next time he slides right to the back of Eddie’s tongue because Eddie swallows hard to squeeze at him and Eddie’s _so_ glad that they’re home alone because there’s no way that nobody would have heard that. _He’s also so fucking glad that_ he _did hear it._

Eddie is so lost in the moment that he moans back in response, gripping at the waistband of the underwear that Richie is still wearing as if he’s trying to somehow pull him closer. Richie shifts right to the edge of the couch with a breathy _‘fuck’_ , both of his hands finding their way back into Eddie’s hair at the same time.

_“Oh my god, Eddie, I’m gonna come…I’m gonna come so fucking hard…”_

His voice almost comes out as a sob as Eddie pulls back to the tip, letting it rest against his tongue as he jerks him off with his hand. He’s clearly not even thinking about what he’s doing, at this point; Richie’s head drops back against the couch when he’s about to come and he groans low and long in his throat and Eddie is so distracted by it that he forgets to move away in time. When Richie finishes it hits him right in the mouth, coating his tongue right to the back and running off his lower lip. Within seconds, still shaking and looking dazed and light-headed, Richie sits forward to hold his palm in front of Eddie’s mouth, just as he gags, instructing him immediately to spit it out. Eddie retches again, quickly spitting the white liquid into Richie’s open hand as Richie reaches to a side table for a handful of tissues and literally wipes Eddie’s tongue and lips with it. He’s obviously out of breath and a bit weak in the knees but that doesn’t stop him from practically running to the kitchen to get Eddie some water, which he gladly takes and drinks in huge gulps.

Richie watches him swallow it, seeing Eddie’s features relax, before he collapses back against the couch, himself, on the floor and rests an arm across his face.

_“Holy fucking shit.”_

Eddie drinks the rest of the water while he’s looking at Richie, before reaching over to place it on the small table where Richie got the tissues.

“I think my _soul_ just came. Right in your fucking mouth.”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry…but oh my god that was fucking incredible…I don’t think I’ve ever nutted that hard in my whole life.”

Eddie is about to protest again, to tell him to stop talking about it but Richie sits forward to grab his face and capture his lips in the most breath-taking kiss he’s ever experienced and honestly, the taste of the inside of Richie’s mouth is a welcome distraction. He lets Richie’s tongue explore every inch of his mouth, melts into Richie’s body when he pulls him close. It’s then that he remembers that he’s still hard, painfully so, in his sweatpants. Richie seems to notice it, too, and he reaches down to get a nice, firm grip on him right there, rubbing at him until Eddie is scrambling against his back and breathing hot and heavy into the crook of his neck.

They manage to somehow manoeuvre themselves back onto the couch, Eddie firmly planted in Richie’s lap as he continues to stroke him through his clothes. Eddie is so riled up, now, that he’s rocking his hips into Richie’s palm, desperately searching for the friction he needs to finally get him to the edge. It’s not enough, this time; he moves Richie’s hand away to grind against him, instead. Richie obviously isn’t hard anymore but Eddie seems to need the body contact, the feeling of Richie’s hips pressed tight between his thighs. Richie doesn’t question it, just grips at Eddie’s ass with both hands, guides him down harder, and holds eye contact with him.

 _“That’s it, Baby Boy, c’mon,”_ he growls, causing Eddie’s hips to stutter. The air in the room is suffocating, clinging to everything it touches. _It’s not enough_.

 _“I…I need something inside me…”_ Eddie scrambles to find his words, unashamed, now as he shifts out of Richie’s lap to kick off his own sweats so frantically that you’d think it was life or death. The front of Eddie’s underwear is damp where he was rubbing at himself earlier and his obvious erection is straining at the material; Richie can’t help himself and he gets his hand on it as soon as he sees it, revelling in the way Eddie’s head drops back against the couch.

 _“Fuck, Richie-”_ he finds Richie’s hand with his own without looking up, pressing it down harder and guiding it, using it to pleasure himself. It’s one of the hottest things Richie’s ever seen and if he hadn’t expended all of his energy just minutes ago he’s sure that he’d be close to coming just at the sight of this.

Eddie clearly doesn’t want it to end yet. He pushes Richie’s hand aside as he shimmies out of his underwear, too. He glances around the room briefly, as if he’s looking for something, before his eyes land on Richie and he hesitantly lifts his own fingers to Richie’s lips. His cheeks are a pretty shade of maroon, highlighting the freckles there and Richie watches the colour spread to his ears as he starts to lick at Eddie’s fingers, pressing his tongue between two of them before sucking them into his mouth. Eddie continues to observe this display, his own lips parted slightly in almost an imitation of the scene before him. Richie releases Eddie’s fingers when they’re good and wet, spitting right onto them as an afterthought and he knows that if he’d done that in any other situation, Eddie probably would have knocked him out with a swift blow to the head but right now, Eddie only drops his hand between his own thighs, lifts one of his legs across Richie’s shoulders to hold it up as he pushes his middle digit into himself.

Richie thought that he had died before, with the lap dance but this…this is like nothing he’s ever experienced. He watches the change to Eddie’s features as his finger slides in, the brief tension before everything goes lax. He starts to move it in and out almost as soon as it’s in and Richie can’t breathe. How many times has Eddie done this to himself for it to be this easy?

“Is it good?” he asks, unable to stop the words from bubbling up out of his throat after they’ve appeared in his brain. Eddie drops his head back against the couch again the second he hears Richie’s voice and Richie can’t help the thought that Eddie might be imagining that it’s Richie’s finger instead of his own. So he continues.

 _“Push it in deeper,”_ he says, lowly. It almost comes out as a suggestion rather than an order but he sees Eddie comply nonetheless, observes the way his chest rises as he arches his back and the way a moan seems to be straining in his throat, _“Put another one in. I know you can take more than one.”_

There’s no hesitation at all; Eddie slides another finger in with the first with a slight hiss. Richie leans over at this, spits onto two of his own fingers and reaches down to rub it around where Eddie’s are to give him some more lubrication. He’s about to pull away but Eddie’s hand comes up to grip at his hair and then his neck so he bends right over him, placing kisses against his heated cheeks over and over as he feels Eddie’s arm start to move between them. He hooks one of Eddie’s thighs around his own waist, sliding his hand beneath him to lift the base of his back and give him a better angle and Eddie groans.

_“Richie-”_

“What is it, Baby Boy?”

Eddie squirms a little against the couch cushions, shifting to try and get his fingers deeper inside himself but he obviously can’t.

_“Richie please put your fingers inside me I can’t-”_

The request comes out so fast that Richie almost can’t make out what he’s saying, but he doesn’t have to be told twice. He waits for Eddie’s hand to move aside, coating his own fingers in saliva just like he did with Eddie’s, nice and wet, before reaching down between their bodies to slip a finger inside him. Richie’s fingers are much longer than Eddie’s and even just the one makes him reach back and claw against the couch with a shaky _‘yes’_.

Richie knows what he’s doing by now, knows exactly how Eddie likes it. He pushes in another finger before getting to the good part, curving them slightly to rub against him until Eddie’s thighs are tight around him and shaking and he’s cursing and moaning and mumbling garbled sentences that don’t make any sense. The only thing that makes sense to Richie right now is Eddie’s mantra of _‘right there’_ , over and over and over again until Richie feels suffocated by it in the best way. Eddie’s thighs are like a vice around him but he’s used to that; it’s one of the things he lives for. Small but strong fingers grasp at his back, pull at his t-shirt until it’s rucked up under his arms again but Richie doesn’t know if he wants it off or if he even knows he’s doing it at all. 

He doesn’t even realise, until he shifts in his seat to get more comfortable, that he’s hard again. One of his legs is tucked underneath his body as he leans over Eddie and his erection is pressed right against it. It’s the fastest he’s ever been ready for a second round, that’s for sure.

_Of course it would be Eddie to help him set that record._

His own problem is far back on his list of priorities with Eddie repeatedly moaning his name and scratching into his back but he still aches for it; aches to get his dick inside that tight little body again and pound him so hard into the couch that he’s screaming. And he already knows that Eddie is a screamer. He’s on the verge of it right now, just with two of Richie’s fingers hitting his sweet spot. But then he can’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out, moves back from Eddie’s body as he tries to remember where the nearest box of condoms in the house is.

Eddie seems like he’s about to complain, he certainly has the beginning of a breathless sentence out, _‘Richie why did you stop I was so close I-’,_ before he notices the bulge in the front of Richie’s –Stan’s- Calvin Klein shorts. He stares at it for a while, as if transfixed, before hefting himself back into Richie’s lap.

“Eddie- Hold on a second. Just lemme go find a condom,” Richie begins. He gives the room another glance over, as if he has to have the visual aid to make his brain work properly, but he’s dragged out of his thought process by Eddie’s next words.

“Don’t get a condom. Just get some lube.”

He plays the words over and over in his mind, watching Eddie’s eyes with a light’s-on-but-nobody’s-home sort of expression on his face until Eddie actually repeats them. He shifts out of Richie’s lap so he can sprint out of the room and, true to what Eddie asked, he comes back armed only with a bottle of lube –the spare one that he knows they keep in the downstairs bathroom for emergencies-. As soon as Richie’s ass touches the couch, Eddie is in his lap again and he takes the bottle from Richie’s hand as if he doesn’t trust him to move quick enough, squirting a generous amount of it into his own palm before clicking the cap back into place and tossing it onto the other side of the couch.

Richie waits patiently for Eddie to do whatever it is he’s going to do, which, evidently, is tug Richie back out of his boxers to get a hand around him, working the lube across the hard –and now very sensitive- flesh. He watches Richie’s features soften, listens to him hiss in reaction to the contact and leans in to rest their foreheads together. Richie can’t look away.

 _“God that feels…so fucking good,”_ Richie swallows, the words straining out between his teeth. Eddie’s eyes are boring into his fucking soul, heating him up from the inside out and it’s so good that it _hurts_.

It gets to the point where he doesn’t think Eddie is going to stop; he’s just going to wring another orgasm out of him like some kind of beautiful, evil…

He can’t even finish that train of thought, then because Eddie’s hand is gone and he’s hovering above him. He opens his eyes, wondering when he closed them at all, to see Eddie looking down at him. Again, for about the fourth time just today, Richie can’t think of anything to say. He wants to ask Eddie if he’s sure about them not using a condom, if he really wants to do this, but then Eddie’s hips are dropping and he’s sinking into him, bare, and nothing has ever felt this good.

His head hits the back of the couch, hands finding Eddie’s hips and digging in hard before he can process what he’s doing. It’s like his body is working independently of his mind, a couple of seconds ahead, and he can only sit back and watch. The pleasure is so intense that it almost feels like a burn. There’s a wanton sound; it hits his ears in the midst of the fog of lust and it takes him a while to register that it’s his own voice and that the sound was Eddie’s name.

Eddie moans his name right back as his hips connect with Richie’s and he’s pressed right in his lap, hot and heavy and shaking. Richie lifts his head to look at him, slides his arms around Eddie’s waist to hold him close to his own body as the lust fog lifts a little. Eddie looks breath-taking. That’s the only way Richie can describe it.

 _“Does it feel good?”_ Richie manages to breathe out, watching the way Eddie’s long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when he moves only minutely to speak.

_“S…so good.”_

_“Me too.”_

Eddie’s eyes open properly, then. He watches Richie’s face for a while, leaning in for an unintentionally-open-mouthed kiss. Richie’s tongue finds the roof of Eddie’s mouth a couple of times; he knows he likes that because it always makes him curl his toes, and Eddie’s hands find Richie’s shoulders. Their lips break apart when Eddie starts to rock into Richie’s lap and it startles a noise out of both of them. It’s unlike anything Richie has ever felt before. Sure, he’s been ridden before and not just by Eddie, but this time there’s something different. Last time, Eddie was timid about it and they flipped shortly after so that Richie took control and fucked him hard into the mattress. It was still good; _fuck,_ was it good, but this is on a whole other level.

Each time Eddie’s hips come down, it’s with confidence that Richie didn’t know he had. This is not just for Richie; he feels good, too. They’ve never even discussed not using a condom before but suddenly here they are, on the couch in the middle of the fucking lounge, with Eddie riding him bareback. It’s something that Richie has only considered in his wildest dreams, nothing between them but their own sweat and a bit of lube. It’s amazing to think what kind of difference a thin piece of latex can make.

Eddie seems to be feeling the same way about it; each time he rocks forward into Richie’s lap he lets out a sound that’s almost a whine, desperation evident in its notes. It isn’t long until his hips speed up and _gods_ , Richie has been waiting for this. Eddie has finally snapped, that last bit of self-control melting away into raw, animal lust. He starts lifting and dropping his hips onto Richie’s, using his thighs as leverage. Richie feels Eddie’s arms slide over his shoulders as he leans forward for a better angle and Eddie’s chest is right in his face, that tanned, sweat-slicked skin close enough to bite into, so he does, sinks his teeth into it nice and deep, enough to leave a mark.

_“Fuck, yes-”_

It’s almost more of a gasp than an exclamation but it causes Eddie to become even wilder, bouncing in Richie’s lap hard enough to make the movement of the couch springs audible. It’s tight, so fucking tight and so slick with lube that each time Eddie drops he comes down _hard_. Richie had thought that the amount of lube he watched Eddie squeeze into his hand was overkill but if he ever says anything bad about one of his decisions again he’s fucking lying because Eddie is some sort of genius.

He pulls his teeth away from Eddie’s chest, admiring the mouth-shaped mark left behind for a brief second before Eddie is attacking his lips with his own, hands tugging desperately at Richie’s hair. Richie’s head hits the back of the couch, again, and Eddie is biting at his lips and it’s all so fucking good that he can’t even think straight. Eddie is basically fucking himself, using Richie like some kind of living sex toy to get himself off and Richie wishes it would never stop. Eddie’s thighs are so firm against him, sweat slicked, tanned skin rubbing against his own. He slides his own hands back down onto Eddie’s hips to get a tight grip on him, its intention solely to act as a distraction and to keep his hands busy but Eddie’s responding _‘Richie, fuck me-’_ knocks him for six. His mind stops working, or goes into overdrive, one or the other…but next thing he knows he’s doing just that, using his hold on Eddie as leverage to rut his own hips up against him, repeatedly.

The sound it knocks out of Eddie is almost a scream. He’s getting to that point of desperation where he loses all inhibition; it doesn’t happen every time they have sex, Richie really has to give it to him hard to get this response. The room is a haze of perspiration and heavy breaths as they both continue to give it as hard as they can from both sides. Eddie is rocking his hips down hard against each upward thrust that Richie gives him, getting louder by the second. Strands of his hair are sticking to his reddened cheeks with sweat. His grip on the back of the couch is so hard that his knuckles are white.

 _“Rich…Richie, I’m gonna come-”_ he chokes out, dropping his forehead against Richie’s but his eyes are closed.

“ _Good_ ,” Richie breathes back, “ _Good boy. Come for me.”_

 _“Come inside me.”_ Eddie blurts out suddenly, almost at a shout. His voice is a strangled moan, desperate and raw…but it’s the words that make Richie’s mind go hazy. He shakes it off, knowing that Eddie can’t possibly mean what he’s saying in the midst of this kind of pleasure. He continues to fuck him, listening to Eddie’s whines getting louder in his ear where he’s leaning pressed against him and onto the backrest of the couch.

 _“Richie, come inside me,”_ he repeats, voice more steady this time but still laden with lust, _“I want you to come inside me.”_

There’s a slight tremor to his voice and Richie can’t believe what he’s hearing.

_‘He wants this.’_

_‘Eddie wants me to come inside him without a condom.’_

He presses his face into Eddie’s neck, which is slick with sweat that’s run out of his hair. He’s so fucking close that he can taste it but, if Eddie doesn’t really want this, then he’s screwed. He feels a sharp tug at his hair that drags him out of his own mind and he opens his eyes to look into Eddie’s, so dark that his blown pupils are indistinguishable from the irises. It’s this look, this one look, which sends him over the edge; he comes with a sharp buck of his hips against Eddie’s and it knocks a loud moan out of Eddie, too.

It’s only when he comes down from his own intense high that he notices the splatters against Eddie’s stomach and chest and realises that Eddie came, too. Eddie is still lost in it, his hips twitching in Richie’s lap as he rides it out, mouth open in silent ecstasy. He leans in to place a slow, wet kiss against Eddie’s already damp neck, watching his head slowly roll back.

This moment of bliss lasts between them for longer than Richie thought it would. Eddie catches Richie’s lips with his own when he pulls away from his throat; the kiss is slow, deep, intense and slick. It goes on for minutes, as sweat dries cold between their bodies and breaths slow to a normal rate. Even with no fewer than six sexual and romantic partners, Richie doesn’t think he’s ever felt something quite so intimate. When they eventually pull away, it’s with a soft, wet sound that gives way to open-mouthed breathing. Richie continues to place little kisses all over Eddie’s face, neck and jaw, anywhere he can reach in this position, until Eddie gently pushes him away.

“Shower.”

It’s all Eddie really needs to say. Richie knows that he must be uncomfortable, with various liquids drying on his skin _and_ inside him. The urge to clean himself must be taking over his every instinct at this point, yet he’s still not moving and Richie feels for him, he really does.

The struggle to get them up the stairs to the bathroom is one that Richie would rather not relive. As soon as Eddie pulls himself out of Richie’s lap he goes pale, leaps up and makes a run for the downstairs bathroom -in which there is only a toilet and sink-. It takes Richie a good ten minutes to finally persuade him to come out; the promise of a hot shower is clearly too tempting even for someone with semen leaking out of their ass whenever they move. Eddie obviously cleaned himself up a bit while he was in there but he still walks a little strange until he gets under the spray of the shower on the next floor.

Luckily, once he’s clean, he calms down to his regular neurotic self, the one who always insists on scrubbing Richie’s hair for him –which he does- and cleaning the walls with the shower head after they’re done –which he also does-. Clean, dry Eddie is much more fun. They even have a little play fight on the bed while Eddie is trying to towel-dry Richie’s hair. It’s a mistake; the tangles it creates take Eddie a good thirty minutes to slowly and carefully brush out. Richie watches him with a love-struck expression the entire time.

“You have to stop struggling when I dry your hair,” Eddie mumbles as he combs out the very last tangle, “It needs to be taken good care of.”

“Why? It’s just hair. I can grow some again any time I want.”

“I know, it’s just…it’s really…”

“Really…”

“Beautiful.”

Eddie seems to instantly regret his choice of word; his cheeks go a nice scarlet shade that reminds Richie of how he looked earlier when they were on the couch.

“Beautiful, huh?” Richie chuckles and Eddie elbows him in the side. All of his hard work is for nothing, as Richie scrapes his still-wet hair back into a bun with a band he must have had on his wrist the whole time.

“C’mon,” Eddie orders as he stands from the end of the bed, “That movie’s not gonna finish itself.”

As they descend the stairs back towards the lounge, Richie stops and lets out a heavy sigh. For a second, Eddie is worried that something is really wrong.

“What? What is it?”

He searches Richie’s face for any signs of concern, his mind working overtime to try and come to any sort of conclusion. _Did he do something wrong? Was the sex actually not that good and Eddie was just imagining it?_

There’s a long, painful, drawn out silence before Richie finally looks Eddie directly in the eyes and says:

  


“I broke my phone.”

 

 

 


End file.
